A Curse-Breaker's Oath
by Intervigilium
Summary: There was one expedition William Weasley never told anyone about.
1. Shoeprints in the Sand

**DISCLAIMER** : characters (except OCs) are the property of J. K. Rowling. But you knew that already.

Bill took a satisfied step towards the edge of a modest hilltop; below him, the sight of the Euphrates was welcoming.

Under the cover of the _shemagh,_ he smiled and patted affectionately the leather cover of an old journal in his hands. Always one to trust his own notes allied to standard maps, he had blank pages and old pens as his most trusted travelling companions. While few things were as satisfying to him as the sound of quill scratching parchment, he had honed Muggle practices during the first few months of his Gringotts career; tradecraft and an inconspicuous appearance often opened doors _Alohomora_ wouldn't.

As he approached the river, Bill checked his surroundings, discreetly casting a few spells to make sure he was alone. Spotting a rock formation that would allow him some shade, he sat nearby for some much needed rest.

While his clothes and apparel looked Muggle enough, they were only so to the unsuspecting eye; spells to make the fabric adapt to local climate and keep the wearer comfortable were a specialty of his by now (also, traversing deserts with trekking trousers that could break the teeth of any common reptile was a much calmer experience, he had to admit).

He took a long swig from a canteen and opened the journal once more, revising his own observations. With a wave of his wand, an assortment of glyphs, rough translations and directions that he could probably cite with his eyes closed were now visible.

With each consideration, each question mark, the stubbornness of youth shone like a guiding star. By now he had crossed a small portion of Iraq alone, and had still a long way to the Iranian border, when he could have been resting at The Burrow with his family. This voyage was not sanctioned by Gringotts in any way, although he doubted the goblins would mind.

Scoff at it? Likely. Discourage it? Not so much. At the end of the day, the prize was too high, should he succeed.

And where so many failed before him, Bill was certain that he wouldn't.

* * *

The young Curse-Breaker stoked the improvised fire pit, keeping an eye on his horizon: the city of Abadan.

From a very few references, Bill knew the city had suffered immensely from the Iran-Iraq War; the signs of destruction were still all around. He himself improvised accommodations near what the Muggles called a destroyed "war tank" that very night.

It saddened him; the lengths to which men, magical or not, would go to rule over each other.

Using the backpack as a pillow, he looked up at the stars. Were he home, he'd probably be outside with his family, making a mess of dinner to rattle Mum just a bit – then Fred, or George (more likely both) wouldn't know when to stop and they'd all be at risk of losing dessert.

He smiled at the thought.

 _Not too long now_ , he told himself.

 **AUTHOR NOTES** : intended as a small (you can tell by the size of the prologue), multi-chapter story of Bill's past. Next part should be up soon.

Reviews are, as always, appreciated.


	2. A Fleet-footed Star

**DISCLAIMER** : characters (except OCs) are the property of J. K. Rowling.

The next morning, he reached Abadan's outskirts; drizzle coated him like a second layer of clothing.

Debris and rubble were so constant one could consider them part of the landscape. To distract himself from the sad picture before him, Bill concentrated on chewing his breakfast (an apple) and timing the bites with the crunching sand and gravel under his feet, a game he had played with himself for as long as he could remember (his father was the only one who had ever noticed the quirk – and he should, having been the person Bill picked it up from).

He was halfway through the paltry meal when he saw them: four children shot out of the closest corner, almost creating afterimages of themselves (the rain was picking up). A little girl led the race, a worn _roo-sari_ flying from her neck as she was followed closely by another girl and two boys, all three in their early teens, it seemed. They were all meagerly dressed; the small one was barefoot.

One of the boys reached for the little one's hair, missing it by an inch and tripping.

 _She runs like Ginny when she steals one of our wands._

The brief, small memory was shaken when the boy cried with anger, and the little girl cried out of fear. Bill was, once more, reminded that some things require little to no knowledge of language to be understood.

"Oi!"

One of the pursuers looked in his general direction, but paid Bill no mind, resuming the chase. They disappeared around another corner.

 _Blend in, William. Don't meddle._

Bill repeated those words in his head twice; then he started sprinting after them, anyway.

Even the longer stride didn't prevent him from reaching an empty street. He could see business and a few locals sheltering from the rain in the distance, but there was no chance the children could've gained so much ground on him. He resumed a jog, eyes scanning left and right.

Then there was _thump, thump, thump_ ; a series of quick feet over wooden stairs, louder than the rain in his ears.

Bill spotted the three-story building to his left. There was a huge opening on the wall where the doors should've been – certainly not by the architect's choice.

He peeked through the gap. The lower floor had once been a commercial room, Bill could tell; dusty, broken chairs and tables and a long bar counter in need of repair. There were stairs to the corner leading to the upper floors, far cleaner than the rest of the room. Someone passed there regularly.

A faint scream cut through his ears as he jumped the steps, two at a time. The door at the end of the stairs was still half open as he reached it; Bill did not pause to scan his surroundings, as the little girl came tumbling down the upper flight and landed close to Bill's feet with a pained moan.

He knelt immediately to check her injuries; but, since he didn't have the time to introduce himself, Bill just caused her to see him with wide, panicked eyes and leap away on an injured leg that failed her. She fell again, two steps away from him and into the dead-end corridor behind her. Bill raised his hands, bringing to memory his basic Persian.

"I can help," he said, one hand still in peace-offering, the other pointing to her injured leg.

"Get out," another voice from the top of the stairs addressed Bill. He barely turned his head to acknowledge the three older children, all wearing similar ugly expressions on their faces. The boy who spoke held a few crumpled _rials_ in his hand. His eyes travelled from his hand to the little girl, who in turn looked from the kids upstairs to Bill, her breath shaky. She started to cry softly, clearly in pain.

 _Right, William. They're just kids. Assess and defuse this mess._

Although slim, Bill still covered the way to the base floor, so the trio had nowhere to go unless he let them out. He brought back his right hand slowly; even if his current position required a slow draw, he could still reach his wand from the hidden holster under his backpack if he had to.

 _Always plan the last resort first._

"Is that hers?" he indicated the money the boy held.

He took the three growing scowls as a "yes".

"Give it back," he asked them. "Give it back and you can go."

There was a barrage of shouts and orders from the older girl aimed his way. While Bill didn't understand all of it, he had cursed enough in his youth to get the general idea of what he was being called. Then the other boy, who was, up until that point, silent, quietly drew an old pocket knife.

Young as they were, there were still three of them; Bill looked once more at the little girl, who now tried to crawl away from them. This was escalating far too quickly.

Bill did not like that. One. Bit.

 _Fine._

The trio kept a close eye on the foreign young man, taking one step down the stairs. The redhead weirdo had his left hand up, but they couldn't see the right one from where they stood. Trying to get a better look, the teen with the knife pointed it at him menacingly, taking another step down…

… then the young man blocking their way muttered something they couldn't hear, and the girl, who was standing right in front of the two others, tripped over her feet. Reaching for anything that would give her balance, she turned and pulled both their shirts, causing all of them to stumble down the steps. To make matters worse for them, by the time he was falling, the boy felt his hand go numb, his fingers stretch, and the pocket knife fell through the open space between the stairs.

It fell, in fact, precisely where the foreign bastard could catch it.

Bill walked with heavy steps towards the bundle of legs and arms moaning in front of him. He grabbed one of the bruised hands, the one that was still holding the crumpled bills ( _Serves you right, you greedy little…_ ) and opened it effortlessly. He then stepped aside, shielding the path between them and the little girl, and let them do the math on their own. He saw them look at each other.

They were still three, but now they were all bruised and hurt. That damn redhead wasn't. He also had the knife. And a look on his face that said, in not so many words, that he wouldn't hesitate much to use it.

One more exchange of worried glances, and the three scrambled to their feet and made haste to the stairs. One of the boys gave one last look at Bill, the money and the knife, shook his head, cursed, and followed the others. Taking one deep breath, Bill turned, kneeling slowly, a much softer expression on his face. He folded the blade in, pocketed it, and offered the little girl her money back. Her breath was still uneven when she slowly accepted it, clutching the money close against her chest.

"Can I help?" he offered, pointing at the cuts and spots of blood in her leg, elbow and hands. None of the wounds looked deep, but she still risked infection.

Slowly, very slowly, she shifted, sitting with her back against the wall, and nodded once, still holding the bills for dear life.

The Curse-Breaker smiled, pulling the single strap of his backpack over to open it. While she couldn't see, Bill's backpack had far more space than it appeared to…

 _Always pack more food and first aid than you think you'll need._

He pulled a small white box and two bottles out. He offered her the one with water, while he checked the wounds, as carefully as he could.

There'd be no need for stitches, which was good. He opened the other bottle, breathing in a familiar scent he could never dissociate from Madam Pomfrey. Bill covered the rim with gauze and flipped the bottle, watching with satisfaction as the girl took one long gulps after another. She looked a little calmer.

"I'm Bill, by the way," he said simply, smiling, flipping the bottle of disinfectant one more time. She was still very quiet, bottle of water empty but still attached to her lips as a shield.

He carefully cleaned the wounds and wrapped them with bandages, in the efficient way he'd seen his parents do a thousand times with him and his brothers (although with a little less magic this time). Apart from a wince or two, she didn't complain, paying close attention to everything he did. Her curious eyes reminded him, again, of his sister back home.

"Esther," she mumbled, pointing at her own heart, about a minute later, as he finished cleaning her elbow. He took an appraising look at her, and winked.

"I like it," he told her. Still shyly, she smiled, with barely visible dimples.

"There you go, all patched up," he said, forgetting momentarily to switch languages. "Right. Sorry," he said to the confused little girl. "Can you stand?" he asked her, getting on one knee and motioning to rise. Bill decided to follow everything he said with gestures, to get the point across faster – Iran had lots of different acceptable dialects, and he knew for a fact he read Persian way better than he spoke it.

He offered her a hand up, which she took. Supporting her weight on her good leg, Esther offered him the empty bottle back, folding the money neatly inside her fist so it was no longer visible.

"And I think **this** is yours," he added, pulling the _roo-sari_ he barely managed to pick up from the street as he pursued them earlier. He straightened it out as best as possible before presenting it to the girl – which earned him another, much wider smile.

"Mam'noon", she said. _Thank you_.

"For food?" he gambled, pointing at the white knuckles of her fingers, still holding the money. She nodded.

"Do you want help? To get the food?"

Esther looked at the stairs, clearly deep in thought. She tried her balance, testing her heels and the balls of her feet, feeling she couldn't run if she happened to need it, although the leg didn't hurt as she expected it to.

If she had to guess, that strange young man was probably a doctor from some place far away.

She nodded again but refused the hand he offered, taking the lead and slowly walking down the stairs. Bill smiled, shouldered his backpack and picked up the pace.

 _Little girls will be little girls_.

They made quite the odd pair, Bill guessed, from the looks they received – a young man tying his long red hair in a simple bun and a smiling, bandaged child sheltering from the rain as best as they could as they navigated the maze of Abadan's precarious streets. The city's population, he noticed, was still small, returning from the long exile imposed by war.

There was much to be done there, still. Poverty and theft would not be unusual. He thought of the young muggers they left behind and made a quiet prayer that they wouldn't bother Esther again in the future. Or anyone else.

The Curse-Breaker was happy to realize that he could make out most of what she requested of the few street vendors they visited during the next hour, as his arms became increasingly loaded with vegetables and nuts (Esther was either one strong little girl or simply taking advantage of her unsuspecting bodyguard to make a bigger stock than she planned to). The girl was clearly very articulated, despite her age.

What surprised him the most, though, was to hear a woman, perhaps Bill's age or a little older, dressed in a clean overcoat, trousers and a long, black shawl, call out to Esther.

Esther positively squealed, and limped only a little as she flung herself at the woman. Emotions were evident in her eyes, the only part of her features Bill could interpret. The small one's limp made her apprehensive; the extended hug gave her relief. And after Esther's quick explanation of the events that led her there, there was a quiet moment when she picked the little girl in her arms and walked over to Bill, who was still a short distance away, bags in his arms, looking a bit dumbstruck.

Under the shawl, he saw a smile – which Esther revealed, pulling it away from the woman's face. It was a little round, and what little hair Bill was able to see almost matched the color of her dark, brown eyes.

"I suppose you're the hero, then?" she asked amicably, and Bill was stunned not only to be asked a question in English, but to find her accent quite akin to his own.

"H-Hero? Not really, no. Esther here just needed a little help with the bags," he finally answered, trying to wink at the little girl, forgetting how to and blinking instead.

 _Get a grip, William._

Taking pity, the woman laughed. "Well, she certainly thinks you are. Does her hero have a name?"

"I'm Bill. Bill Weasley."

The woman's lips quivered into a smile. "Short for William, I presume."

He could only nod, confused.

"It suits you", she said, as she planted a kiss over Esther's forehead and set her down.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Bill. I'm Shadi."

 **AUTHOR NOTES** : next part should be up this week. Special thanks to those who reviewed so far and encouraged the story to continue.


	3. Open Courtyards, Veiled Truths

**DISCLAIMER** : characters (except OCs) are the property of J. K. Rowling.

"Is _this_ your card?"

Esther's eyes grew wide, as she picked the card from Bill's hand and hopped back to show it to her parents, who smiled back at her, impressed as she was. He chuckled, leaned back against the old column and reshuffled the pack, contemplating his surroundings.

Last he counted, fifteen people joined at the central portion of the city block he first discovered Esther in. The core was an open courtyard that all outer buildings shared backdoors to. A peaceful fountain, long tables and benches, and improvised scattered lamps still stood; a testament to the people's resilience and unity.

While Bill was not enthusiastic about being delayed, and watching the families gather made him terribly homesick, he was still glad to be there. Of course, Esther's parents simply did not give him a choice after they heard of the morning incident; he was to stay, dine and rest. No excuses.

Plus, Bill had to give it to them: the stew and rice he ate earlier was absolutely perfect.

(Back at The Burrow, for no reason she could explain, Molly Weasley walked near the family clock, saw Bill's hand still in "travelling", and huffed indignantly, supervising her own dinner preparations with renewed vitality)

"So you're a wizard, then."

He looked up, eyes a little wider than he willed them to be. Shadi (Esther's neighbour, he learned earlier that day) sat across from Bill, holding a plate of what looked to him like a pomegranate cheesecake slice.

"What, this?" he held the pack of cards up, laughing dismissively. "I've always liked sleight-of-hand tricks; hardly makes me a **wizard** , does it?"

 _Interesting choice of word, though._

She finished a bite of her dessert. "It does to my little star, apparently," she said, nodding in Esther's direction, which beamed at them. "That's what her name means: _star_ ," Shadi resumed.

"It suits her," he mused out loud, which brought back a question he still had to ask his current company. "Much like William, apparently, suits _me_. Would you be kind enough to explain?"

Another bite, an elusive grin. "Here's some etymology for you: William is the English form of the German _Wilhelm_. Wilhelm, in turn, combines _wille_ and _helm_ , which translates to something along the lines of _desire to protect_ , or perhaps _vehement protector_. So you see, _William_ ," she added a note of cheek to his name this time, "you really couldn't help coming to Esther's rescue this morning."

"Clearly," he laughed, appreciative of the random bit of knowledge. He made a mental note to search a few names' meanings, while he riffle-shuffled the cards absent-mindedly.

"That's such a lost art," she lamented. "Those Self-Shuffling cards have really taken over the market. No more dealers in family games… shame."

He was halfway through another shuffle when his shock made the cards fly everywhere, and Shadi hid her laugh behind her fork, mouth still half-full.

"Wait. Are you – have you been -?"

"We, as a community, really should come up with a clever handshake of sorts, shouldn't we?" she whispered, not meaning to draw any more attention after her laughter caused most of her neighbours to look their way. All shrugged, and some smiled. _Ah, youth_.

"Then again, what golden opportunities to prank other witches and wizards we'd miss, right?" he quipped.

"Right you are." Her eyes sparkled. "I hope you'll forgive me."

"No harm, no foul. But when did…?"

"For some reason, I suspected when Esther told me what happened at the abandoned building. And – please don't take this as an insult, but there was just… _something_ about the way you carry yourself."

Bill nodded; he had felt the same about Shadi, an inexplicable pull. The invisible links of magic, perhaps?

"I was only positive when I convinced Esther to let me take a look at her wounds to see if she needed clean bandages. No ordinary medicine works that fast."

"Pays to be cautious," he said.

"Sometimes."

She watched the courtyard silently, waiting for a moment when the few remaining people weren't looking their way. Then, in a swift motion, she drew a wand from her sleeve, waved it deftly, and hid it again as the cards flew back to Bill's hands in perfect order.

"Sometimes you just have a small window of opportunity to throw caution to the wind," she whispered, eyes lighting up again.

Bill couldn't help but laugh, shaking his head.

"Two of my brothers would _adore_ you."

Shadi settled the empty plate next to her. "Only the two? I'm sure I'd enjoy the adoration, regardless. Now," she said, resting her head back and appraising the young man before her. "I know you have some questions, as I have some of my own. Shall we?"

He mimicked her stance, putting aside the pack of cards he borrowed from Esther's father.

"You're about my age, and speaks English like a native, but didn't go to Hogwarts. I would remember you."

A grin. "I suppose you would, but not as a first or second-year. My parents moved a lot, and they didn't want me to feel isolated – which was rather silly, considering the amount of time I spent in school and not with them, anyway. I studied at Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Koldovstoretz."

"Impressive!"

"Less than you would believe," she said, playing with the tips of her fingers.

"Gypsy life isn't all that's supposed to be?"

"Gypsies always give me the impression that they move as they see fit. I had to see if I'd fit after I had already moved."

Bill didn't have to know Legilimency to know when to drop a touchy subject.

"Which brings us to the Middle East," she said, raising her arms and turning slightly left and right to indicate their whereabouts. "Tell me, William Weasley: why am I here?"

"Well, I – wait. Why are _you_ here!?"

Bill was spared laughter due to his befuddled face when Esther came to give Shadi a "good night" hug; her family was turning in for the night. It was endearing, how they acted so much like sisters; Bill was contemplating asking Shadi if she had any siblings of her own when he was caught with a hug of his own. He watched slightly over her head as both Esther's parents looked from Bill to Shadi with approving glances.

His cheeks matched his hair for a brief moment.

He noticed how Shadi watched gingerly as the family disappeared behind double doors, the little girl looking over her shoulder the entire way.

"Well, now that we're alone," she whispered, loading the words with conspiracy, "my head can _breathe_ a little. I know they probably wouldn't mind, but I figured I should be respectful of – at least some – local ways while I'm here."

She removed the shawl, pulling apart an elaborate knot to allow the long, dark hair to fall. Shadi closed her eyes, oblivious to Bill's presence, breathing in the night. She looked up at the stars, easily visible through the courtyard, now with far less lights on, and smiled.

Only then he noticed the tattoos; four, no, three lines of verses spiraling around her neck, written in glyphs and symbols he couldn't quite discern. It was almost as if the light of the moon made then shine over her skin.

"Well, I don't know _why_ you're here, Shadi, but it sure looks like you _want_ to be," he said before he could help it.

And he was rewarded with her most beautiful smile. "Very good. Isn't that the point, really?"

He could only nod.

She shifted, calmly placing a finger in front of her lips in contemplation. "And why do _you_ want to be here, William Weasley?"

For a moment, Bill was completely silent. Then…

"Alamut."

Under the night sky, her benign features could mean pity of confusion. Probably both.

"Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you're sort on the wrong side of the country."

Bill reached for the pack of cards and drew the first from the top.

"Oh, I know where the fortress is _now_ ," he said, showing it to her: ace of spades.

"What I'm really looking for," he continued, flipping the card between his fingers, "is the foundation from which it was **moved**."

When she looked again, it was an ace of diamonds.

"I want the _Undercity_."

 **AUTHOR NOTES** : ... have a great Friday? Leave a review?

(I got nothing today, really)

Thanks for reading!


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